


A Standing Offer

by WendigoDreaming



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, Cunnilingus, F/F, Let's pretend the later seasons never happened, Somehow both compliant and divergent ??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 10:57:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18548386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WendigoDreaming/pseuds/WendigoDreaming
Summary: Before departing to Westeros, Dany and Yara seal their deal.





	A Standing Offer

Returning to Tyrosh was like returning home to Dany. The air in the markets still smelled of garlic and pepper so strongly it would singe any man daring to breathe deep. The streets wound tightly with brightly coloured merchants speaking a bastard High Valyrian so familiar to Dany’s own tongue that she could taste every passing word hot on her tongue. These merchants sold bright cloth as bold as the colours they dyed their beards and hair.

In the Jewel of Tyrosh, the high-end whorehouse, the bold colours continued. Much like a Tyroshi circus, the whorehouse’s vaulted ceilings were draped in bright crimson, pink, and orange waves, collected at the centre where a long chandelier hung. The spinning crystal and jewels painted the mixed faces of patrons and prostitutes as they mingled below. 

Dany had not imagined her last night in Essos, before departing the following morning to Westeros, would be spent in a whorehouse. But when Yara and Tyrion had proposed one indulgence after a month-long trip before tackling the narrow sea and the thorny viper pit that was fabled to be the newly minted Dorne-Tyrell alliance, Dany had scoffed at the insinuation she would not come. 

She was the mother of dragons; she could stomach a whorehouse.

“There are many fine delicacies worth sampling tonight,” Tyrion announced to the matron the moment Dany and her companions entered the establishment, “but pear brandy to whet our appetite first!”

“Pear brandy? Have they no ale?” Dany smiled as Yara Greyjoy answered from where she stood near the back of the party. Her brother, Theon, continued to resemble a kicked dog more than the man Tyrion had warned burnt boys alive and took a castle from a child and called it conquest. Yara, though, was everything a reaver should be. She eyed each woman who walked by with varying level of interest.

The others did not attend. Varys was preparing the morning’s meeting with the great houses of Westeros and Missandei has chosen to remain inside. Greyworm, much against his will to remain with Missandei, was in front of the Greyjoys and looked nowhere. Tyrion, who led the pack, was all pleasantries for the girls who came wielding expensive pear brandy on solid silver trays. Dany watched as they each tried to present Dany and company with the right sides of their faces.

“Kirimvose daor no. Pear brandy is a specialty of Tyrosh,” Dany explained to Yara who tilted the cup and frowned at the sweet contents. Yara took a swig, grimaced, but smiled when Dany chuckled at the sight. Dany turned to her Queen’s Hand as the party settled in a collection of pillows and wide ornate chairs, “Why do they do that? Turn their faces? Do they fear us?”

As Dany asked, a young woman with skin like burnished copper came bearing sweet Volantis beets in purple honey to pluck up and suck on. As she lowered for Dany and Tyrion to take one, she turned her face to the side. Was it to show respect? They had not shown her respect when Dany spent her childhood amongst the fractured islands or weaving through the markets. Surely though stories of Dany had seeped this far west already.

“Your family has a history here my queen. Aegon Targaryen came to Tyrosh’s aid against Volantis. The people of Tyrosh support a Targaryen restoration. But, alas, it is indeed the tattoos that they are hiding.” Tyrion gestured with his goblet at one woman perched in a pink-bearded merchant’s lap. Below her left eye was a single teardrop tattoo. 

“I remember seeing men with tattoos like these as a child. Are they,” Dany hesitated, “slaves?”

Tyrion nodded. “Yes. Tears for prostitutes, anvil for apprentices, and flies for shit shovelers. They, like those beets, are imported from Volantis.” When Dany’s scowl deepened, Tyrion cleared his throat and added, “Though there are far less here than when I was here last! There are far more freed women and men.”

“But the slaves will remain slaves,” Greyworm said sourly over his sweet drink.

Yes, they would. Dany nodded and leaned back in the twisted ivory chair she’d chosen for herself. “Pentos had free bond servants. I would imagine with the Bay of Dragon’s dwindling supply of bodies to trade, that will catch on here.” Dany watched the youngest girl in the establishment, sixteen at most, walk with a jug of ale for Yara and Theon. In a shadowy corner a noble man had a purple-haired boy rubbing scented oils into his bare shoulders.

She would leave tomorrow morning from Essos, the only home she had ever known. Slavers Bay was renamed, Daario left to continue the peace in whatever capacity he could… but the freed cities were not as free as she had intended. Slavery would still linger like a pox scar on the continent. Had she simply been an ointment? What if when she left the disease reared its ugly head once again? 

“You cannot save every slave, Daenerys,” Tyrion said, as if reading her mind. 

She could have if only she had conquered more of Essos in her time there.

When the crease in Dany’s brow did not subside and her eyes followed the girls, Tyrion sighed and motioned the matron over. 

“Pay every girl with a tear drop a night’s wage, send those not currently engaged home. We will only have free women serving here tonight.” Then, when the matron opened her mouth to counter, Tyrion flashed her only a fraction of the wealth they’d brought to the whorehouse that evening and she bowed.

“Of course, Lord Tyrion. At once.”

Dany gave her approval and watched as the young girl and the copper-skinned woman were tapped on the shoulder and quietly excused themselves. 

“I want one night of unbridled enjoyment before we willingly ship ourselves back into my sister’s hands. Let us ease any of your worries my queen so that you perhaps can enjoy the same.”

“A woman who comes of her free will comes louder anyways. You come willingly, don’t you darling?” Yara spoke to a tattoo-less girl who had decided to come settle herself beside Yara. Her hair was in a loose braid, and Dany noted she had a small gap between her front teeth that made her look charming.

Perhaps it was the flash of coin or simply the odd mix of Dany’s party gathered in a semi circle, but the free whores began to join them. Two bracketed Tyrion, one attempted to rub her hand along Greyworm’s exposed chest but he shook his head and whispered something that had the girl bowing and moving to attempt the same move on Theon. After a jostle from Yara, Theon began to smile wobbly at the woman and spoke to her before being tugged away. Dany had heard he was a eunuch, so who knew what he was being tugged away to do.

Yara was watching her though through all her interactions. She had been watching Dany constantly from the first moment they shared in her audience room back in Mereen. Like a hawk judging whether to swoop in.

The matron with her nest of black hair and floral perfume, came to Dany’s elbow. “Will you be wanting for a man for this evening my queen? We have them young and un-bedded, or wild like stallions if that is your taste.” The women had a conspirator look as she learned so close that Dany could see the sunspots on her heavy breasts. No doubt the matron had heard stories of Dany’s horse lord husband and seemed to presume her tastes. 

The matron made no move to offer Yara the same invitation. Perhaps it was the way she sat so uncouth with her legs wide apart, covered in worked riding leathers and her hair unadorned save for a small band gathering the sandy hair at the nape of her neck. It was clear that Yara would laugh at any insinuation she wished for a man between her legs. Comparatively, Dany sat in an intricate blue dress, her Dothraki riding pants hidden. No one could see, save for someone between her own legs, that she too could ride a horse better than any man. 

The girl beside Yara giggled at something the lady said and dove to kiss at the sweet spot beneath her ear.

“No, that won’t be necessary,” Dany answered in High Valyrian. Yara kissed the girl’s golden hair. “My desires lay elsewhere tonight and I am happy with the selection you’ve already provided.” 

No one else in her party understood, thankfully.

The two women at Tyrion’s side began to tug him up from his seat, giggling and grinning. “Duty calls.” He laughed towards the group, whom, save for Yara, were grim company. “I will see you at the crack of dawn, if I am still able to stand.” Then, with a grin to the girls, “run along and get ready. I’ll count to three…”

“I will walk the perimeter.” Greyworm said as he turned from Tyrion chasing the girls into one of the dim hallways.

“Yes, see to it,” Dany permitted. It was clear Greyworm would prefer to be anywhere but there in the perfumed whorehouse.

Now there only remained Dany and the Greyjoy woman. Full-blooded Westerosi, not the company she had expected to keep on her last evening in Essos. 

Yara had now settled with the girl molded to her side, stealing sips from her strong ale. A serving girl came then to refill Dany’s cup with wine. Dany noticed with a small ache that the girl resembled Doreah, her handmaiden back in Vaes Dothrak. They had the same hooded eyes and effortless sensuality to every move.

Everything in Tyrosh was so suffocating familiar. Dany thanked the Doreah doppelganger and drank deep.

“Are your ships ready for tomorrow morning?” she asked Yara once she had licked her lips clean. They had to leave early and the Greyjoy fleet would be sitting near the helm of her party as seasoned seamen. “The Tyrells and Martells have promised one hundred ships each, though they have more fighting men on shore. You will oversee their integration to the fleet will you not?”

“Do you always talk when you are uncomfortable my queen?” Yara asked as if telling her a joke.

Her cheeks felt hot but Dany kept her composure. “No, I tend to stay silent until I can weigh my options.”

“Then if it’s not discomfort, what is it?”

“Maybe it is discomfort.” Or perhaps a preemptive homesickness.

“Well I’ll have none of it tonight. Up on your throne I would listen to your pretty mouth spurting off politics for a fortnight. But here? Here we are only doing three thing.”

“Which are?” Dany leaned forward in her chair, pursing her “pretty mouth” in interest.

“Drinking,” Yara listed with one finger, “fucking,” she brought up another finger and sucked on it with a pop.

“And the third?” Dany asked. Yara’s finger looked shiny and wet. The girl at her side stared at the finger, probably imagining what it would do to her later since she fell under the evening’s blanket of “fucking”.

“I struck a bargain with you. Your throne for mine. I want to know what sort of woman I’ve pledged myself to.”

“You want to get to know me?” Dany huffed a laugh and looked around the whorehouse where one woman was on her knees fellating a man not ten feet away. “This is hardly the place!”

“On the contrary, this is the perfect place.” Yara leaned over to the girl and whispered in her ear. There was a small flash of white as her teeth found the whore’s lobe. Then the girl was up, her hips rocking as she departed their alcove.

When she returned she held two small metal glasses carved into the shape of a sparrow and cat with inlayed rubies. Dany made sure to select the cat glass and then knocked back the vile liquid without question. That appeared to be the right answer as Yara howled a laugh when she began to cough. 

Gods, it was truly vile. Salty and thick in a way that clung to her throat and refused to be swallowed.

Yara knocked hers back without issue. “Fish bitters and spirits. Every seaman has to drink it in the Iron Islands before they depart on their first voyage. It has a one thousand year history of good luck.” Then she licked the brim of the sparrow. “Tastes a bit like cunt too.”

Dany choked a second time. 

“Do you know the taste?” Yara bit her lip impishly. Her face was rather plain but had easy delight that leant her an appealing look. It was the sort of face Daario would have made.

The taste of arbour gold wine began to wash the taste away when Dany switched the small glass for her goblet. “Uhm, no.” Why did she feel so childish admitting that? Perhaps it was the way Yara made it seem like it was something she should have known. Dany rushed to correct her words. “When I lived amongst the Dothraki I had two handmaidens, Irri and Doreah. Doreah taught me how to please a man. Sometimes at night when I was sore from riding all day, she tried to please me too. Never anything more than light touching. Why am I telling you this?” Daenerys did not need to impress anyone, let alone an Iron Born lady already under agreement.

“Because you want to.” Yara lifted her glass of ale back up to her lips. “The bitters and alcohol helps too.”

It must have been the alcohol. Yes.

It was pointless to ask Yara if she knew the taste.

“I heard you kept a lover in Meereen too. Lord Tyrion mentioning him in passing while sharing a drink on the road to Tyrosh.” That was true, both the lover and the drinking. Dany had found them together often, the only two of their party who enjoyed indulging in drink. Once or twice they drank with some of Dany’s Dothraki bloodriders and ended up riding horses backwards for sport.

Dany looked away from her company and out into the sea of bodies amongst the silk wall hangings. In the center of the main room there was a sunken floor beneath the multi-coloured chandelier. Inside, two of the free whores were kissing slowly, undulating their bodies for the group of merchants watching above with their dramatic clothing and hair. 

Daario had been Tyroshi, Dany realized. Everything kept coming back to Tyrosh. 

“I did. His name was Daario, but I removed him from my company before leaving Meereen.”

“Did he have a nice cock? I heard you married a man that was half horse, I doubt your lover compared.”

“He did.”

“Then I see no reason why you let him go.”

Dany sighed. “I need to be marriageable. When I return to the seven kingdoms that is.”

“You deny my uncle Euron’s hand in marriage with a few sweet words and then make yourself eligible shortly after.” Yara raised a brow. “I hope my trust is not misplaced.”

“No.” 

“Then my offer still stands.”

Dany sipped at her goblet, pretending not to remember that Yara had stood before her throne and claimed to be “up for anything.” “What offer?”

“You know what offer.”

“You call this a deal? A deal then. What about yourself? Surely you’ve been betrothed at least once… Though I’m like to believe you would have not allowed it to altar.” 

Yara leaned back along her chair. Infuriatingly cocky. “You would be right my queen.”

“Daenerys.”

“Daenerys, then. What is there to know? I was fourteen the first time.” Dany sat up in her seat and Yara laughed. “Fucking, not marriage. No, at fourteen I fucked a sailor’s daughter from Lys while on my first reaving trip.”

“At fourteen? You reaved at fourteen?”

“That’s late by Iron Island standards, truly! We start most boys when they’ve barely weaned from the tit. They had no qualms about how I liked my men though,” she paused for effect, “not at all.”

“And that’s normal in Westeros?” 

Dany couldn’t quite remember if it could be considered normal in Essos. In Quarth surely, with her fleeting husband Hizdahr zo Loraq as a prime example. There had been once or twice she had heard of Dothraki war lords keeping slave boys, even one, Khal Rego, who had tried to take one as his Khalessi before the boy was skewered by another Khal’s arrak during petty combat. In Pentos she had seen women kissing once under an almond tree, and in the whorehouse here in Tyrosh there was the purple haired boy who was perched on the noble’s lap, now making noises as the lord’s ham-fisted hands reached under his garb.

But from what she had heard in Westeros, Dany doubted this same leniency would be the case.

“No. Gods, no. My uncle Damphair tried to drown me a handful of times. Had I been born a high lady of some other house, Stark or,” then with a knowing smile, “a pretty thing like Maregery Tyrell… Well, we are not the Martells, but I did not let any boy put me on my back. I cut the cock off the ones who tried.”

“And your father still tried to marry you?”

“Political pawn. You understand. Erik Ironmaker, and he had twice my years but held land near our main land. My uncle Euron tried to arrange it before he was banished. Raped my uncle Victarian’s wife… and then… he…” Yara’s words trailed off as she watched one of the girls go by. She was dark as night with gold jewelry and green glinting flecks of precious stones draped through her tightly coiled hair. A Summer Islander no doubt.

Yara was completely unabashed in her attention. Dany tried to emulate her, watching the woman’s hips rock side to side, peeking out between the thin sliver of cloth barely covering her behind. The issue was while the woman’s feminine features were beautiful, it was the rough callouses of Yara’s hands and the hooded eyes that kept pulling her attention back. Between Daario and Drogo, perhaps she had a type: wild and rough.

“What’s it like?” Dany asked, watching the woman as she was summoned by the matron and led towards a new patron at the door.

“Hm?” Yara turned back to look at her. Judging by her sly smile, she already knew what Dany asked.

Dany felt her ears go hot. It felt like she was back in the Khalessi pavilion tent with Doreah as she instructed her on pleasure. It was a new sort that Dany had yet to fully grapple. After taming dragons and murdering Dothraki warlords, it was almost humorous that with a little wine and curiosity, the concept of bedding a woman was enough to embarrass her like a child.

Yara followed her gaze back to the dusky woman who grabbed hold of the newest patron’s silk belt, giving it a small tug towards the sunken pit of the room. 

“Ah. That.” Then, to Dany’s surprise, Yara stood up. Her leather pants were tight around her strong thighs and her gait was just a little wobbly in them from the alcohol they’d both been drinking. She came to Dany’s side, looming over and then without explaining stuck two of her fingers right into Dany’s goblet.

“What are you--! That’s arbour gold!” Dany gasped, both annoyed and a little delighted that Yara abandoned common decency to not swish fingers in another woman’s swill. Wasted wine dripped down Yara’s fingers. It took everything not to lick a drop dripping to pool at her wrist.

“Shhh, here.”

The two glistening fingers were placed in front of Dany’s face so much so that she almost went cockeyed trying to focus on them. “What? Do you imagine I’m going to suck your fingers clean like some man’s cock?” Dany laughed coolly and turned away from the fingers to sip at the wine that had rudely been fingered.

“No, I want you to slip that pretty pink tongue of yours between them.” There was a soft heat at Dany’s side as Yara rested one knee on her ivory chair.

Oh. Dany blinked and then moved the goblet away from her face. There was no one else in their alcove after Theon and Greyworm’s departure and no one in the whorehouse would think anything of their exchange, women or not. Feeling emboldened by the wine, Dany’s free hand reached up and wrapped her fingers around Yara’s sticky wrist.

She held Yara’s gaze. For such a plain face, she had lovely eyes, a soft amber colour that were hooded, as always, as if in constant interest or distrust, depending on the light. Now it was certainly interest. Dany leaned forward and slid her tongue through the bitter, wet slit between Yara’s fingers.

It slid in easy enough once, twice, then Dany pulled back enough to run the tip of her tongue from the web at the bottom all the way to the tips of Yara’s fingers, tracing a drop of wine as she did. 

When she looked back, Yara’s eyes were blown black. Dany leaned back, smug, and sucked her lips clean. “Like that?” Then, “Is that what you claim it’s like? Callouses and wine?”

“Not at all.” Yara leaned down and Dany allowed her to touch the bottom of her chin with her damp finger. Dany raised her chin on instinct. “I just wanted to see if you’d be any good.”

“And?” How did she do?

The finger against her chin tapped there playfully. “Can’t give you an honest answer until we put you to the test.” 

As the Doreah look-alike circled the room to refill wine, she came by Dany’s limp wrist hanging over the edge of the chair and paused. Dany turned from the pirate looming in her lap. “Let the matron know Lady Greyjoy won’t be having need of her ladies tonight.” 

“Is that so?” 

Dany ignored Yara. “Provide me with the best room you have immediately.”

“Yes, my queen.” The girl bowed and then went to find the matron in the maze of silk hallways.

“No whores?” Yara said when the girl had departed. She did not appear disappointed at the prospect and let her finger still tracing Dany’s jaw slip down her throat to where a dragon egg pendant sat.

“A queen is no whore’s second act.” And with that, Dany pulled one leather strand free of Yara’s sigil-embroidered doublet. Then she stood, leading a giddy Yara through the whorehouse.

***

Cunt, as it would turn out, tasted better than fish bitters. It was still musky like cock, but had a sourness that was completely new.

“Fuck me. Oh lords, fuck me,” Yara groaned out as Dany dove her tongue back deep inside the pirate. Dany’s silver white hair was plastered to her cheeks in tendrils from sweat and Yara’s juice. 

After Yara had roughed her up and then licked her own cunt so wonderfully, it was only fair to return the favour. And after a few experimental licks, Dany had taken it upon herself to claim Yara.

She had not taken Meereen half-heartedly, nor would she fuck a woman with less.

Dany’s fingers dug into Yara’s thick thighs as she pushed them further back, stretching and exposing the glistening slit. Like strategizing a battle, Dany sat back on her knees to observe and decide her course of attack.

“You have me painted all over your face, darling.” Yara panted, letting her head drop back to the over-stuffed pillows of the whorehouse. She reached up between her own legs and wiped away a wisp of silver stuck to Dany’s lips. “And you have a look on your face like you can’t decide whether to have me or withhold from me. A devilish look.”

Dany grinned. 

The room was spinning. Too much arbour gold after all. No doubt she’d be sick all over the side of the boat and make a marvelous impression on the Dornish fleet. Tyrion should have known better than to encourage an evening of vices before meeting delegates.

Then again…

Dany’s own fingers drifted down and when she rubbed them up between Yara’s folds it was hotter than dragonfire. Her fingers did a small dance afterwards, walking along Yara and spinning like a Lys dancer on her clit.

With each step, Yara’s hands slipped down further Dany’s arms, like the life and strength was leaving her.

“I know what I want.” Dany decided with an air of finality. Up on wobbly legs, Dany left the bed, ignoring the soft grunt of neglect from Yara.

The silks inside the room were not the colourful ones as in the main chamber of the whorehouse. In this private room they were woven navys and black silks with small crystals spun in to resemble the night sky. Only the oil lamp scented with jasmine and orange flickered a warm light across Dany’s figure as she crossed the room.

There, nestled near a table with a porcelain bowl and pitcher for washing up, was a large leather chest.

She bent over to open it.

“What a view.”

Dany blushed but continued her exploration.

Inside the chest was an assortment of items meant for the entertainment of the establishment’s patrons. Thick leather ties to keep unruly hands secured together, shifts of silk to rob the victim of pleasure of their sight, long carved phallic shapes of sanded jewel and lacquered wood. Close, but not quite.

“Ah, yes.” Dany said. “This should serve just fine.”

“Find something you like, darling?” Yara had turned over onto her stomach in the bed, stretched out lazily like a cat. It was apparent that Yara was comfortable with her own body. It was hard and lean like a boy where Dany’s had always been soft. The pirate’s ass was still rather magnificent, as imagined. 

Dany grasped the contraption in her hands and hoisted it up. Leather straps dangled from the supple, stitched leather. 

Yara laughed at the sight. Dany walked towards Yara’s outstretched hands, meant to ensnare her. The moment Dany was within reach, Yara had her by the hips, nibbling at the light dusting of silver hair between her legs. It was almost ticklish but Dany gave her no more than a small noise of fond annoyance.

“Bold choice. Do you even know how to use that, my queen? Surely, your consort in Meereen had no need for one of these.” Yara spoke from below Dany’s mound, her tongue trying to sneak down for a moment for a kiss. “Tie me in then and I’ll fuck you senseless.”

“Fuck me?” Dany managed, with less force than she wanted thanks to the rooting face rummaging between her legs.

“Until you can’t walk across the deck to meet the Queen of Thorns without wincing.” Yara’s teeth found a plump patch of Dany’s inner thigh and latched on. After a quick suck she got up on her knees.

“Hm.” Dany smiled softly like she would at the former slave boy who used to bring her flowers from the Old Master’s gardens every morning. It was endearing, to see Yara adjust herself against the straps and look over her shoulder expectantly to be laced up. She had no idea. “No.”

“No?” Yara leaned back on her heels when Dany reached out and pulled the straps free from her.

“No.” Dany repeated. “I have spent my life being, as you so eloquently put it, fucked. Perhaps I do not wish to bend over to you too.”

Yara stared blankly as if this version of the proposition had never been in her list of possibilities. That was most likely the case, Yara did not seem like the type to simply lie back and take anything from anyone. But she would this time.

“Yeah?” Yara croaked, parched.

“Yes.” Dany held the contraption against herself and sensing this, Yara came to start buckling her in obediently. Yara’s long fingers followed the leather, wrapping it around Dany’s hips and then with a tight pull she fastened it nice and tight. It was obvious the pirate knew her way around a pleasure device.

No doubt Yara had had many a faceless women, whores and those who came willingly into her lap. Yara nibbled her lip a little too hard in wary excitement that it left small indents as she finished securing Dany.

Dany had never had a woman, but she doubted very much that it was often, if at all, that Yara was simply had. This put them on equal footing adventuring into new territory together just as surely as they would take Westeros together.

Once the straps were tightened Dany leaned back into the soft pillows of the whorehouse to watch Yara in the flickering of the oil lamp.

“Well come on now,” Dany grinned cheekily, the leather phallic jutting obscenely. Surely she was quite the sight. Her furthest leg dropped open, baring it all for Yara to see. “Come ride me.” 

When Yara spoke it was dry and hot, like the Dothraki Sea. She struggled to swallow and then began her slow, languid crawl forward. “With pleasure, my queen.”

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a million years ago and thought, "Damn, with the last season happening I might as well post it before it's completely useless." I obviously wrote this after the Yara and Dany scene and pulled from the books as well so it's a bit of a mix-match.
> 
> In hindsight, Dany and Yara have better chemistry than Dany and Jon. Tragic.


End file.
